


Ramble On

by jujitsuelf



Category: The Losers (2010), The Losers (Comic)
Genre: Angst, Cougar's dead, Huong River, Jensen POV, Led Zeppelin - Freeform, M/M, ghost festival in Vietnam, post-comic, sad JJ
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1522070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujitsuelf/pseuds/jujitsuelf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two years since Cougar died. Two years of wandering, two years of remembering.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ramble On

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer – All publicly recognizable characters, settings etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended  
> ***  
> Thank you to 3white_mage3 for the read-through  
> ***

Inspired by this gorgeous picture - [Huong River - Vietnam](http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/visions-of-earth/visions-earth-2014#/0514-voe-vietnam-paper-flower-candles-670.jpg). Copyright of that pic is of course with the photographer and National Geographic. I just saw it and instantly got hit by this story.

I've never been to Vietnam, so I apologize for any and all inaccuracies, they are completely unintentional.

***

The air was still, preternaturally so. It hung in Jensen’s lungs, sticky and heavy with the scent of joss paper and incense. He didn’t mind, he was used to the smells by now.

Overhead the moon glowed in the darkening sky, a half crescent set against blue velvet. Birds fluttered to their roosts and stray cats twined around his ankles, looking for food and attention. Jensen glanced down and saw a black cat with a long white stripe on its side staring back up at him.

"Hola, gato," he said, his voice rusty from disuse. "Come to show me the way?"

The cat blinked up at him, eyes steady and knowledgeable. Then it turned and slunk off into the deepening shadows at the side of the alley.

Jensen stared after it for a moment, then shrugged. It was just a cat.

Up ahead the river twinkled and shimmered with light, plenty of people had gotten there before him and paid their respects to the wandering dead.

The smell of the water reached Jensen’s nose, cutting through the incense. His chest tightened and a sob closed his throat but he didn’t stop gently pushing through the crowd in front of him.

Before long he was on the riverbank. So were lots of other people, families, men and women standing alone or in peer groups. Most of the adults were solemn-faced, the children looked around them with innocent curiosity.

Jensen looked at their open, questioning faces and saw twenty-five lives snuffed out in an instant. Fire and rending metal, aviation fuel igniting in a sheet of flame.

A little girl stared up at him, her eyes huge with wonder and a tiny trace of fear. Jensen almost smiled, yeah, he was probably a forbidding sight. Two years without Cougar had changed him irrevocably. His hair was too long, he knew that. But the ponytail he now caught it back in reminded him of black hair and dark eyes and he couldn’t bring himself to cut it.

Two years spent wandering, rootless and restless had done nothing for his looks. Bar fights and encounters with people who thought he was an easy target had left him with scars all over. Cougar would shake his head in quiet reprove. Jensen’s chest was unbearably tight.

The little girl looked at him for a moment longer, then turned away and cuddled into her mother’s side. Her mother wrapped an arm around her shoulders and shot Jensen a worried glance.

He walked away, feeling abruptly sick.

It took a while, picking his way through knots of people and past stalls selling lanterns and paper boats and everything else under the sun. But eventually Jensen found a quiet little patch of riverbank and sank down into a crouch, staring out at the still water of the Huong River.

Behind him, Hue went on with the Ghost Festival, honoring the dead and appeasing the wandering spirits recently released from hell. But Jensen’s world shrank to the tiny piece of damp bank he crouched on, the water scant inches from his feet and the small paper lantern he pulled from his grimy pocket.

The lantern shook, his hands were trembling. Maybe he was hungry, when had he last eaten? Jensen had no idea, it didn’t matter.

From another pocket in his dirty khaki pants, he pulled a Zippo lighter. He’d never carried one as a regular soldier but Cougar had found it at a street market in Marrakesh and grinned as he bought it. A cartoon Joker leered up at Jensen in the fading twilight. Cougar said it fitted him, he was always the joker in any situation. It had been a long sentence for Cougs, almost Shakespearean in fact. Tears slid down Jensen’s cheeks. Two years since he’d heard Cougar’s voice.

It took him three attempts to get the lighter working and another two to get the tiny candle within the lantern burning to his satisfaction.

The little flame flared bright and strong, casting a pool of light over Jensen’s hands. Staring into it, he ignored the tears which now dried on his cheeks. The Ghost Festival, he still couldn’t wrap his tongue around the Vietnamese name for it, honored the dead just released from hell, offered them food and helped them find their way. Lost souls needed guidance and all the help they could get.

Cougar should have died a hero’s death, should have his rightful spot in the Special Forces cemetery at Fort Bragg. So should Clay, Roque could go fuck himself, he didn’t deserve to rest with his brothers.

But the world had conspired against them, had twisted their fortune with callous hands and thrown them away with the rest of the trash. Only Pooch and he, Jensen, remained of what was once one of the best teams in the US Army. There truly was no justice in the world.

Absently, Jensen noticed that his fingers had stopped shaking. Cougar had once told him, on a cold night in Afghanistan, about the state a sniper tried to get into when he was down on a shot. Steady breathing, plenty of oxygen in his blood, complete focus, no distractions. Nothing in the world but him, his rifle, the target and the wind.

Right now there was nothing but Jensen, the paper lantern and the flickering flame. Maybe ghosts stalked the periphery of his vision but they could wait their turn. Their mourners would be along soon, most probably.

He breathed in, the cooling air still heady with incense.

There was no sound as he shuffled closer to the water. The flame within the little paper flower danced merrily, as though it had known the man it was honoring and was glad for the opportunity.

The paper kissed the dark water silently, sliding out of Jensen’s fingers and bobbing away out of reach in moments. It joined a myriad of other little flowers, all floating serenely, carrying memories and sorrow with them.

Jensen watched it bob, not even blinking. His chest was unbearably tight and there was heat behind his eyes.

"Find your way, Cougs," he murmured. "Find a good place and wait for me. You’ll wait for me, yeah?"

The lantern joined a group of other little lights, swirling around in the river’s current. Jensen tracked it for a while, then lost sight of it, unsure which small flame belonged to Cougar.

He sat down on the damp grass and rested his forehead on his knees.

How long he stayed there, he didn’t know, but when he looked up again, dawn was staining the sky and he was alone on the riverbank.

Stiff and aching, he climbed wearily to his feet. Soon the sun would be up entirely and the river would lose its magic. It was better to be on the move before that happened, he didn’t want to see it.

Pulling a battered iPod from his pocket, Jensen pressed the earphones into his ears and scrolled to find the right song.

"Always liked this one, didn’t you?" he said as Led Zeppelin’s ‘Ramble On’ began to play. "You’re the one who made me like Zeppelin."

Tears burned his cheeks again. He turned away from the river and stumbled back toward the town, no destination in mind.

"See ya, Cougs."

Maybe there was a quiet ‘adios, cariño’, behind him, but with Zeppelin in his ears, Jensen didn’t hear it.

It was time to ramble on.

 


End file.
